


Lull

by Decepticonsensual



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:05:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3758962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some after-hours relaxation among the denizens of Luna-1.  Good bounty hunters deserve all the head-pets from the Chief Justice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lull

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thoughtsdemise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/gifts).



Tyrest's fingers were not – in Lockdown's estimation – quite as beautiful with the drills sheathed, but they were far more gentle, smoothing over scarred and fire-roughened paint and softly tracing the angle of each of the spines that lined the bounty hunter's helm and neck.

Lockdown's engine let out a throaty purr as he shifted, nestling deeper against the plating of Tyrest's thigh; the Autobot always seemed to run hot, and the warmth was luxurious, making Lockdown's optics dim as Tyrest's hands worked their way back up to his crest.

Tyrest would talk, sometimes, while they did this – sometimes distracted murmurings about his plans, sometimes a few halting, broken reflections on the world they'd lost to the war; it didn't bother Lockdown, but his favourite times were when the whispers focused on Lockdown himself, as they did now: “Look at you,” Tyrest sighed, “every inch of you, forged and sculpted as a weapon, from these –” he dragged his thumb over Lockdown's temple, lingering along the shape of the spine there, “– to this,” and his fingertips tweaked the point of Lockdown's claw, where it rested on the sofa beside them. “Form and function in complete unity. There is a real beauty in that.”

The claw, unused to such sensitive handling, thrummed with new sensory input, and Lockdown bit down on a whimper as the sensation – too strong to be comfortable, but too good to care – lanced up his arm and crackled through his EM field, and Tyrest chuckled as the bounty hunter squirmed in his lap.

“Shhhhh,” he murmured, lifting his hands away... and then a warm prickle settled at the back of Lockdown's helm, slowly resolving itself into the delicious feeling of ten little drill-points skritching diligently at just the right spot on his plating, as Lockdown's optics offlined in bliss.


End file.
